The Flame
by lemonpiefirefly
Summary: Teal'c has to go on with fifty years of memories the rest of his team never experienced. It is harder than he could have imagined. Unending ficlet'canon AU'. SamTeal'c For AOHP challenge Dec 1. Thanks to cap for beta.


The first mission after their return from the future, as only Teal'c thought of it, had gone smoothly. Med checks and debriefing went quickly and he cleaned up to get to the mess hall and grab a little dinner before heading back to his quarters. The others had things to do tonight, and he was alone with his thoughts.

As he sat by himself in the mess hall and ate, his mind returned to his teammates' curiosity over the events in the time dilation field. He couldn't fault them for wanting to know. He was equally certain he couldn't tell them. He didn't believe there was any way it could affect this timeline, in truth. Vala Mal Doran was correct when she said that path had already been trod upon and the way back, sealed. So it shouldn't matter. But he clung to the tired excuse so that he could spare the others what it would mean to know those things about themselves; what it would mean to them to know how they survived all that time.

Teal'c cleared his table and set off to his quarters. As he opened the door, he saw the muted light cascading down onto his bed from the small recessed light in the ceiling. The rest of the room was dark. He set down his key card and sat at the end of his bed, taking off his boots. He sat and merely thought. It was a little disorienting to be back around all these people. People he knew so very well, but who were now so different. People he used to know, but so altered without the last fifty years of experiences that had shaped them into who they had been. But Samantha...he had not thought it would be as hard as it was when she was right there, so close, but not at all the same person she had been a few short days before.

And Daniel Jackson, with his quotes spoken to annoy Vala Mal Doran. Would that he could share the history of some of those. It seemed the archaeologist was suddenly a mind-reader.

"Beggars can't be choosers". Ah, that one small utterance cast off as a joke took him back over thirty years, the night Samantha came to him, distraught after the General's death. They embraced in the hallway, but she wasn't fit to be alone that night. By the early hours of the morning, she finally cracked a small smile as she quipped that very line, self-conscious after they had shared his bed. She laughed a little, shook herself as though waking from a daydream, and then looked at the floor and wiped her eyes. Quietly, he reached out to her and gently cupped her chin with his large hand. He wanted her to understand after all this time that it never was an arrangement merely of convenience for him.

"I would have chosen you many times over, Samantha, in the face of abundance all around me, were it a choice I could have made." She stopped, completely frozen. She didn't breathe. She swallowed to clear her throat, then slowly raised her eyes to him. Tears welled up and threatened again, but did not fall. She locked her eyes on his face, then, and held his gaze with questioning hope. What she saw there-truth, raw emotion, safety-was a better balm to her soul than she had had in twenty long years. The very next line she uttered almost inaudibly, and with a bit of a smile returning. "Better late than never." If Daniel Jackson only knew... but it could not be. The other quotes they bandied about in the gateroom before their latest mission now all had different meanings to him that he could never share with the others. If they only knew how much of that special, tragic, wonderful night was in his statement, "good things come to those who wait". They certainly did.

Oh, Samantha. She had always been wise. Getting right to the very center of the matter for him. "You know, as hard as it is for us not knowing…it must be torture for you not to tell us." He had held her gaze, his normally schooled façade threatening to crack as he felt a longing he didn't know he could feel slam into him. It felt like minutes went by before he could speak. His throat betrayed him as he huskily replied, "Indeed". _Oh, Samantha. You know there is something of great significance that I conceal. Please do not ask. I do not know how strong I can be about this._

So here he sat in his quarters, alone, at the end of the mission. As they say," business as usual" once more. He looked out over all of the candles in his quarters. Part of their purpose was utilitarian. Though he no longer had need for kel-no-reem, he still practiced meditation and he was used to centering himself with the candles as focal points. Over the years, he had also developed the habit of assigning meaning to each of them, and he focused his thoughts around family and memories with certain candles that were placed there. Tonight, as he prepared to meditate, he walked over to the table along the wall and picked up a small lighter there. He steered his path to the newest candle at the end of his bed. The one he had taken to extinguishing last before leaving, and lighting first every night.

He lit the wick on the single pillar candle, then leaned forward to light the next one, when he stopped. He stood back up, took a couple steps backward, and sat heavily on the end of the bed. He stared at the singular flame burning there, leaping and weaving in his sight. He absentmindedly turned the lighter over and over again in his hands. His mind drifted back over fifty years of a separate life shared with one who could no longer remember.

The lone candle, and the immobile figure, burned throughout the night.

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A/N: Written in response to Ann-Marie's AOHP Advent Calendar Fic Challenge for the word "candle", which came up today, Dec 1.


End file.
